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No, no — not this journey. The one from 2003–2004.
Alain, my former travel companion, recently sent me the emails I had written at the time. Many readers of The Blue Bandana have wondered about the rest of the journey, since in the book I stop the story at the Cape of Good Hope.
I have very few notes from that period. After South Africa came Swaziland — where I badly injured a knee in a fall — and then Mozambique, where I spent a month on a beach waiting for that same knee to recover (with a few dives along the way to observe whale sharks and manta rays).
After that, I made my way to Tanzania via Malawi.
This email, and the ones I will publish over the coming days, recount that period — the time when, with the motorcycle out of service and my finances at their lowest, I had to make the decision to return home.
Not without one final adventure in Rwanda, which was then commemorating the tenth anniversary of the genocide.
Enjoy the read.
The End of the Journey
The restart did not go well.
A fall.
An injured knee.
Well… that’s part of the journey.
What really made me curse was being forced to stay on asphalt. Asphalt has no flavor. It lacks salt. It lacks spice. But I would never have been able to pick the bike up on my own. My knee would have given way.
Then came another leak from the fork seal, and the front brakes locked up. But by now I’m used to this sort of thing: fixing it is no longer a problem.
Remember, at the beginning of this trip I knew nothing about mechanics.
That’s no longer quite true.
And then, the day before yesterday, the rear shock absorber finally gave up. A tiny hole in the hose of the adjustment knob… and the oil simply drained away. Impossible to repair.
The only solution would be to have another one sent.
That would be possible. Jean Castera — who has been helping me remotely since the very beginning of the journey, and even before that, patiently guiding me through the mechanical blunders I manage to create — could send one. Like the time I broke the fork leg.
A thousand thanks to him. And to all those who have helped me along the way.
Jean even has a second-hand one.
But…
It is almost the end.
And my finances are… well, let’s say they are at the end of the dry season. It is time for the rains to arrive.
In short, I find myself thinking that paying to ship a shock absorber by DHL would probably be foolish.
So perhaps it is time to write the word:
THE END
And yet it feels strange.
Strange to think that I will no longer be riding along African tracks.
Because once you taste it, it becomes addictive. Exhilarating, even.
Only one regret: too much time spent in Namibia and South Africa.
That isn’t Africa.
Or at least, not my Africa.
Not the one I love.
It is not the middle of nowhere.
It is not only the dust, the vibrations, the potholes, the bumps, the ravines.
It is not just the villages or the tracks disappearing into the horizon.
Above all, it is the people.
The people who come toward you with a smile on their lips.
That is the Africa I love.
And there is still so much to do here.
So many landscapes yet to discover.
So many encounters still waiting to happen.
I want to go to the farthest reaches of the Sahara.
I want to cross Zaire from east to west.
I want to disappear deep into the heart of the rainforest.
All of that…
I will do it.
Next time.
With a lighter motorcycle, perhaps.
For now, there is only one thing left for me to do: visit the last Constellation group in Rwanda.
The motorcycle will finish its journey in Dar es Salaam.
But it will set off again.
It too.
In Africa… or somewhere else.
After a serious overhaul.
For the moment it will wait for me here, at Henrick’s place.
As for me, I will take the train to Mwanza, then a bus to Kigali.
After that I will return to Dar, and from there I will fly home. The bike will follow.
And we will end the journey with a small tour of France in May.
Along the small roads.
The winding ones.
Because highways… she would not tolerate them.
I will go and see friends in Alsace, Grenoble, Annecy, Montpellier, Toulouse and Pau.
And then…
We shall see.
Life is still long.
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